


Blame It On The Love (Of Rock 'n Roll)

by calathea



Category: All American Rejects
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-23
Updated: 2009-12-23
Packaged: 2017-10-05 01:50:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,533
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/36468
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/calathea/pseuds/calathea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tyson & Nick appeared on the JBJ MTV Unplugged show, and JBJ calls Nick Wheeler "Nicky". This is the story I made up to go with that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blame It On The Love (Of Rock 'n Roll)

**Author's Note:**

> Beta by madsciencechick, miznarrator, and decor_noctis.

For the most part, Jon tries to remain ignorant of his children's musical choices, apart from making sure they don't buy anything with parental advisory stickers. He knows his eldest daughter has an _extensive_ collection of inane pop and his eldest son has a whole computer full of music that seems to be ninety percent screaming and ten percent what sounds like harpsichord, and the two youngest are still mostly into Sesame Street and the music the mobile over the crib plays. That's as much as he wants to know.

So, it's with something approaching horror that Jon finds himself sitting next to his daughter at a venue in Los Angeles to see her _favourite band, Dad, you have to take me, please, please, pleeeeeeease_. He's a hands-on father, he really is, but there are some things that are better left to his wife, and this would normally be one of them. For some reason though his daughter wants him there, and he's not even going to pretend he's not a sucker for pleading eyes and strategically deployed terms of endearment, and so here he is, slinking into his seat as late as possible in a baseball cap, hoping none of the long-suffering soccer moms in the seats nearby recognise him.

"I like Tyson best," his daughter is saying to a girl in the row behind after striking up a conversation about the t-shirt she's wearing, which is patterned with butterflies and which he gathers is also somehow connected to the band. "He's _so_ cute."

Jon covers his eyes with his hands and wonders whether it's too late to stick his daughter in a nunnery.

"I like Nick," the girl sighs in reply, "I have like, thirteen pictures of him on my walls. Mom helped me put them up."

Her mother, who is sitting right behind Jon with another woman, laughs.

"Her father doesn't like it," she says to her friend, "But I used to have Bon Jovi _papered_ on my walls, so I said she could."

Jon feels his daughter stiffen, and she hastily turns back around to sit down in her seat. They glance at each other at the same moment, and Jon marvels distractedly at the wonder of genetics as he sees his own wide-eyed horror reflected perfectly in her small features. He sinks further into his seat and pulls his baseball cap down to shade his face a little more.

Thankfully, before either of them has to think too long about Jon's pin-up past, the lights go out and the screaming starts as shadowy figures run onto the dark stage ahead of them and the sound system booms into life.

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

"We think you should include a segment with a younger rock band in order to broaden the demographic appeal of the show," the exec in charge of the Unplugged show drones, and Jon yawns and tries to keep his eyes open. It's not that he's not interested, but the room is too hot and the suits have been mumbling at them for hours and he and the guys had a late night last night, catching up with each other before today's meetings.

"I have a few names, though of course you're welcome to make any suggestions... Let me just..." the executive says, and shuffles through his papers.

"The All-American Rejects," Jon says, blinking out of his stupor when the topic of conversation finally filters through to his brain. The suit shoots a surprised look at him. "I like them. We should get them in."

Richie taps his fingers on the table, and half closes his eyes. "All-American Rejects. They had that song, right, with the..." and he hums a few notes and then sings, "_Move along, move along, lalalala_."

"Can they play?" David says, after a pause, looking doubtful. "These boy bands, they don't always know how to play."

Jon waves a hand. "I heard them live. They can play, they're good."

Everyone looks at him. "What?" he says, and Richie raises an eyebrow at him. "I went with my daughter, shut up."

The suit clears his throat. "They were actually on the list. Young, strong following, multi-platinum," he says, with a slight smile. "They're not touring right now, so it should be fairly straightforward to schedule them in."

Jon nods, and everyone else just shrugs. "Get the singer and the lead guitar," Jon says, decisively. "Oh, and hey. Ask if they'll send my daughter an autograph."

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

Jon doesn't exactly _mean_ to sneak up on them, let alone eavesdrop, but he doesn't see any harm in listening in when he chances across the two Rejects guys standing in the hallway outside the rehearsal room. He stops just around a corner from them, leaning on the wall and sipping from his can of Coke while they talk.

"Seriously, Nicky," one of them is saying, and he sounds more worried than joking. "You need to calm down. You look like you're going to puke."

A quick peek around the corner confirms this assessment. Nicky -- Nick Wheeler, Jon assumes -- is paper white and looks like he's either going to throw up or start hyperventilating, or maybe both. Jon figures the only reason the kid is still upright is that he's propped up against the wall and his band-mate is hanging on to his elbow.

"I can't remember how to play," Nick says, and he sounds stunned and terrified. "Ty, _I can't remember_."

Tyson sighs loudly. "Nick. Nicky. You say that every single time before we go on stage."

"I really don't remember this time," Nick insists, and he reaches out to fist his one hand in Tyson's t-shirt. "I don't think I can do this, Tyson."

Tyson puts his hand over Nick's and leans in, dropping his voice. "Nick, you're going to be awesome, just stop panicking, okay?"

He glances quickly up and down the corridor, and Jon ducks hastily out of sight. There are a few shuffling noises, and what sounds like whispering, and after a few moments Jon's curiosity gets the better of him and he pokes his head around the corner again. They're standing really close now; Nick's head is leaning on Tyson's shoulder, and Tyson is murmuring something close to his ear, a thread of sound just loud enough for Jon to hear, but too quiet for him to make out any of the individual words. The fingers that were clutching t-shirt fabric are now laced together with Tyson's. After a long moment Tyson falls silent, and then Nick straightens up, staying close.

"Okay," Nick says, in a normal tone of voice, and breathes out steadily.

"Yeah?" Tyson asks, and Jon catches a flicker of movement where their hands are joined, Tyson's thumb drawing a soothing line over Nick's knuckles.

"Yeah," Nick says, and he leans his head back and grins at Tyson.

Jon may be an eavesdropper, but he's not a voyeur, so he shifts back around the corner again, and a second later Richie comes out of the room the band is using and says, "Hey, Jon, you ready for the next rehearsal?"

Jon nods, and they walk around the corner together. The two guys are standing casually side-by-side in the corridor. Nick is still looking nervous, Jon thinks, and as they approach Nick half-ducks behind Tyson's shoulder, hiding, if he weren't about the same height as his band-mate and Tyson wasn't such a skinny guy.

"Hi, hey, I'm Tyson, and this is Nicky, Nick Wheeler," Tyson says, smiling as they stop to shake hands. He's not as calm as he looks, Jon can tell, his accent is stronger than it was before and his hands are shaking very slightly, but he's faking it well.

"Hi, I'm Jon," he says to Nick, reaching out to shake hands.

Nick looks at him slightly dazedly. "I know," he says, and Tyson laughs.

"Nicky here had your posters on his walls for like, his whole life," Tyson informs them, and Richie grins at him. "I won't let him put them up at my place in Florida."

Nick sends Tyson a dark look, though whether it's because of Tyson's revelation or lingering resentment over the posters, Jon doesn't know. "And he has a Bon Jovi tattoo," Tyson continues, unabashed. "And like, every record, ever, and a million t-shirts."

"Shut up, Ty," Nick hisses at him, his face scarlet with embarrassment.

Jon takes pity on him, and squints thoughtfully at Tyson. "Speaking of t-shirts, is it possible you have the same t-shirt as my daughter?" he asks, trying to sound innocent. "I'm pretty sure I recognize the butterflies."

Nick laughs, and pokes Tyson in the arm when he stutters something, and Jon winks at him before suggesting that they go through to the rehearsal room.

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

They don't get to spend much time with any of the other performers who take part in the Unplugged session, but there's only a few of them Jon would want to spend more time with anyway. Nick and Tyson are definitely on his list of regrets. Nick never entirely gets over his nerves when Jon or any of the rest of the band are around, but he relaxes enough for Jon to see through to the confident guy he was on stage in L.A., for Richie to stop twitching his eyebrows nervously at him about whether Nick will get through his solo without dying of stage fright. They have the crew and performers in the dressing rooms in a constant ripple of laughter, a double-act where neither one is strictly the comedian or the straight man.

He rarely sees them apart through the whole rehearsal and recording process, and as he picks up bits of their story from tales being told in the circle of performers, he wonders a little about the dynamics of their band, at the way it's built around the unit of Nick-and-Tyson-against-the-world. It's not until the after party that he gets a chance to talk to either one of them alone, cornering Tyson while he stands watching Nick across the room, shedding his t-shirt once again to show off his tattoos.

"Any excuse to take his clothes off," Tyson says, grinning at Jon as he approaches.

"Yeah?" Jon says, and turns to look over at Nick, who is twisting to look over his shoulder while two women trace the Bon Jovi design on his back with long fingernails.

"Summer tours," Tyson says, nodding and gesturing with his beer bottle. "Pretty much all naked, all the time."

Jon laughs. "You should have been in tour buses in the eighties, man," he says, "The air conditioning back then sucked."

Tyson shakes his head. "Oh, the good old days," he says, "I was five, of course, so mostly I'm talking about playing in the sandbox and naptime, but still."

Jon laughs and shoves at his shoulder, and Nick looks over at them, holding eye contact with Tyson for a long moment before smiling and glancing away.

"You did good today," Jon says, after a pause while Tyson hides a private smile by looking down at his beer, peeling off a corner of the label. "You both did."

Tyson looks up and beams at him. "I thought Nicky was going to die," he says, and Jon has never heard the Oklahoma so strong in Tyson's voice. "I swear, he stopped breathing for a while when we were in the dressing room waiting for our turn."

"Yeah?" Jon says, wondering where Tyson's going with this.

"Yeah. He.... I mean, this is so huge for Nick," Tyson says, and he looks across the room again at where Nick is listening to LeAnn Rimes. "For both of us, of course, but for him. Just. Wow."

Jon nods, and Tyson pauses, sips his beer. "I just wanted you to know he's not always so, like, jumpy, or whatever," Tyson says, finally. "He just wanted to make a good impression."

"He did," Jon says, simply, and lifts his own drink to his lips.

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

They're waiting outside for their car when Jon comes down from the hotel function room where the after party is just winding down, and he stops just inside the lobby doors to watch them. Nick is laughing at something, and Tyson is waving his arms around dramatically in mock-protest, a cigarette trailing from one long-fingered hand. They're standing close -- they always stand close -- and they brush and bump against one another as they talk, eighty percent body language and twenty percent speech. Jon recognizes the way they communicate from his own life, from his decade-and-a-half long marriage and the band he's been part of for longer than these boys have been alive.

He pushes through the door, and Tyson drops his cigarette and crushes it underfoot.

"Oh, hey," Nick says, and pushes his guitar case gently with his foot. "We uh, we got asked to sign something for your daughter, I guess, just before we left, but we're taking it so Mike and Chris can sign it too."

"She'll love that," Jon says, "We went together to see you live in L.A."

Nick blinks at him. "Really? Oh, man, I'm so glad I didn't know. Did I do anything stupid?" He turns to Tyson, "Dude. Did I ever do anything stupid in L.A.?"

"You bought that fucking ugly purple velvet jacket thing," Tyson says, immediately, "Or maybe that was San Diego."

Jon laughs. "Purple velvet?" he asks, and Nick sighs and replies, "It seemed like a good idea at the time."

"He was drunk," Tyson says, out of the corner of his mouth, and Nick's laughing protest echoes off the marble walls of the building.

They all hug and shake hands a few moments later when the car arrives for the Rejects guys, and Jon smiles at Nick's whispered thank you, at the way he leans into Jon's space when they touch. He raises a hand to wave as they drive away.

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

The package is delivered by his manager a couple of weeks later, having apparently been passed around a few people before it reaches him. The outside layer of wrapping has his name on, but the layer beneath is addressed to his daughter, with a little note stuck to the front that says "From Nicky &amp; Tyson", probably for his benefit.

She screams when she opens it, until her mother tells her to _stop, for the love of Pete_, but she's grinning at Jon over their daughter's head when she does. The box contains the promised autographs, and some candid photos of the guys waving and holding up signs with her name on, and a couple of band t-shirts and another like her butterfly shirt but with leaves. There's even a little note, signed by Nick Wheeler, that says her name will be on their guestlist for their next show in Jersey. Jon grins at that, because he's pretty sure he could get her on any list she wants to be on, but their invitation means so much more.

"Oh! Oh!" she squeals, "Oh, they are just. They are _so awesome_."

And if Jon didn't think it would be an instant death sentence to any love she might have for the band, he would agree.

* * *


End file.
